Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 57707 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 192(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57707 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 192(@300wpm)
When I reach Tristan’s Tails, my legs are aching, but I don’t mind. I prefer it. It means I’ve got something to distract from the drumming in my head. It’s a drumbeat that goes “rent, bills, Mom” repeatedly. I don’t have the luxury of sitting back, licking my wounds, and assessing my situation.
It’s make it work or … or what? No more care for Mom? A long, stressful, and maybe painful passing.
I take a moment outside the entrance, breathing slowly. I’m getting too morbid about this, making my thoughts too miserable.
Walking through the door, I hear Loki yapping straight away. He’s at the gate, like last time, clawing against it. Seeing his happy face is enough to push all the other stuff away for a little while. I’m grinning as I approach the front desk.
Simone smiles over at me. She’s around my age but thinner, with cute dyed pink hair. “Hello again. I knew it was you before you even walked in the door. Loki loves you!”
I laugh, shaking my head. “I think that dog might be a little crazy.”
“Just a little?” she chuckles.
“You asked to see me again?”
Simone nods. “Tristan wants to interview you. I mentioned that in the call?”
My head feels like it’s being pulled in two directions, and my thoughts are hazy. The fear of everything weighing me down. The job loss feels like a too-recent cut, a slice that won’t stop stinging.
“Yeah. Sorry. Sure.”
“Do you need a moment?” Simone asks.
I almost snap at her, demanding to know what she’s talking about. Why the hell would I need a moment? Then I realize my voice has just quivered. I’m dangerously close to breaking down and making a fool of myself.
“I’m okay.”
“Are you?” She walks around the desk, lifting the divider. She looks like she might put her hand on me, but then she thinks better of it and leans away. The concern in her expression looks real. “Okay, I mean.”
“It’s nothing. I just lost my job, but it’s fine.”
Downplaying it doesn’t seem like the best strategy. Most of the time, it feels like the only strategy for me.
“Are you sure?” Simone says, seeming fooled, thankfully.
“Yes.” I stand up straighter. “I’m ready.”
I’m not sure if I’m ready for the man who was chasing me in my dreams last night. I tried to keep Tristan out of my head, but the way his shirt tightened on his arms kept returning to me, along with how he watched me as if he found me attractive, or maybe that’s me projecting.
Loki yaps as she leads me upstairs. I can almost imagine he’s telling me, “Good luck.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
TRISTAN
“Give me a second,” I call when somebody knocks on my door. I put my cell phone back to my ear just in time for Raffie to let out a snort. “What’s funny about that?” I growl. “I’ve got every right to keep the area around my business clean.”
“There’s moving on dealers, then talking down to one of our guys. A Trentini man’s got every right to try and make an honest living. I don’t see how him handing out those flyers affects people giving away their sick dogs.”
I grind my teeth but say nothing. Raffie knows the sanctuary is for more than sick dogs.
“Maybe some of the fellas don’t like you having that place, anyhow,” Raffie says, a cold note in his voice. “Maybe they think it’s bad for business. Makes us look weak.”
“There’s no us,” I growl. “I’m a private contractor.”
“Do you think that exists in our world?”
I grip the edge of the desk, a sharp jolt moving through my body. It’s like the adrenaline dump I’d experience before a battle. My body flooded with get-ready energy.
“We had a deal. I’d do certain tasks. I’d get paid. That’s it.”
“So why are you hassling one of my guys? You know what? Maybe I’ll put more men out. More flyers.”
“Don’t fuck with me, Raffie.”
“No, really. Explain why you need that home.”
He’s playing games. This isn’t what I signed up for, but I’m not some naïve green boy either. I’ve lived long enough to know he’d try and turn big bows sooner or later.
“Tristan?”
“I run this home because it’s the right goddamn thing to do. Some of these dogs have been treated like trash for the crime of not knowing which human to listen to. I do it because somebody has to. I do it because all this shit has to mean something, Raffie, which you should understand, but you always refuse to.”
“Hmm …” He’s clearly considering my words, which he’d never do if the men could hear us. That’s how I know he must be alone.
Raffie was a Trentini bastard, but when he went looking for his father’s family, and they gave him an in, he was more than willing to be brought into the fold. Yet they had to remind him of a cold fact one night: he would never be the same as them. That’s why some of the fellas—some of the men he now parties with when they let him—took him to the docks, beat the hell out of him, and spit in his face. He’s content to pretend it never happened. Content to do their dirty work just to be part of the fold.